“I think so.”
She urges me to bid, so I hold up my paddle when the pie goes up for auction. Another woman and her husband at a different table are also eager for it, so I end up forking over a few thousand dollars for a pie we probably could buy from a grocery store for significantly less.
But Rosette is immensely pleased and eats a surprising amount—two whole pieces—before giving up and collapsing back in her chair. She smiles up at me, and I think my heart stops in my chest.
“Thank you.”
“For the cats and dogs,” I say.
“Would you ever want a dog?”
I quirk my head down at her. She’s got her hand on top of mine where it rests on her thigh, and I rub the fabric of her dress there.
“I like dogs well enough. Growing up, we used them for hunting.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Hunting?”
“Orcs love to hunt. But a pet dog? I have never had one.”
Ms. Kristoff smiles wistfully. “I’d love to have a dog. But I’m never home. I wouldn’t want it to be waiting for me alone while I’m at work all day and then some nights.”
But I could give that to her.
It arises unbidden. I remember the time she mentioned how she wished someone else would do her laundry, and I could make that happen, too, if she lived in my home with me.
I try not to let my little fantasy run away with me. I need to show her what I can offer her in a way that won’t overwhelm her. She clearly values her independence and agency, so I’ll have to tread carefully.
As I file this information away for later, the live auction begins. Ms. Kristoff seems most bored by this, disinterested in the fancy trips to Thailand where you can ride elephants, or the all-expenses-paid beach getaways.
“Sometimes a girl just wants a dinner at Red Robin,” she mutters as the bidding goes on. But breathing in her scent, I am nearly ready for this to be over.
At last, the auction ends, and the lights dim. I sweep her up into my arms the moment themusic starts, and she giggles in a way that’s surprisingly carefree as other couples come out to join us.
“I didn’t know you liked to dance,” she says, falling easily into step with me. “You’re pretty okay at it.”
“I took classes.”
“To learn to dance?”
“I had a phase. I learned two kinds of dancing, pottery, and baseball.”
“Baseball,” she repeats, squinting. “I have a hard time imagining that.”
“I wasn’t good at it.”
I bring her in closer until her cheek rests against my chest. She sighs and leans in, letting her arms wrap around my waist. We sway to the music together, and the tightness in my ribs eases having her so near me.
This is good. This is the balm my soul needed.
Is this what it’s like, to have a mate? To hold them close and feel as if all is right in the world?
I could get used to it.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
ROSETTE
